<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Nychthemeron and Her Housemaid by ModernWizard</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23576392">Nychthemeron and Her Housemaid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernWizard/pseuds/ModernWizard'>ModernWizard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Happy Famverse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>At least according to the TARDISes, Everything you think you know about Time Lords is wrong, Gen, Nychthemeron the TARDIS, Nychthemeron's housemaid doesn't do dusting or floors or windows or much of anything really, Nychthemeron's raison d'etre appears to be annoying the shit out of the Master, Snarky spaceships, Steampunk, TARDIS feels, TARDIS relationships, TARDISes in charge, TARDISes know best, fashion - Freeform, humanoid TARDISes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:27:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23576392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernWizard/pseuds/ModernWizard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brace yourself, reader. Everything you think you know about Time Lords...is wrong. Ryan stops by the Master's house. The Master's out, but Ryan meets the Master's TARDIS Nychthemeron, who has a very different opinion of the whole Time Lord/TARDIS relationship. She's also rather disappointed with the quality of the help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Sinclair &amp; The Master's TARDIS, The Master (Dhawan) &amp; The Master's TARDIS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Happy Famverse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694899</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nychthemeron and Her Housemaid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>[INT. The MASTER’S TARDIS.</em> <em>It appears to be a shack with walls and floor of unfinished, uninsulated boards. A small portion of THE MASTER’S information hoard fills the room. Two-meter-high stacks of magazines stand on the floor. Books overflow all shelf space in listing bookcases, stacked and wedged on top of regularly shelved rows. Maps, annotated with sticky notes and string, curl from the walls. It’s dim and cool in here, like an attic, but not particularly dirty, more musty, like a used book store.]</em></p><p> </p><p><b>THE MASTER</b> <em>[off screen]: </em>I’m leaving!</p><p> </p><p><em>[The only clear space in the shack is a three-cushion sofa with a floor lamp beside it. A PERSON sits length-wise on the sofa, her back against the arm rest, her legs stretched out on the cushions.</em> <em>She appears to be a woman in her mid-thirties with brown, orange-undertoned skin and violently pink hair in a French twist. She wears an oversize T-shirt with the Vitruvian man on it, but encompassed by a gear, rather than a circle, and leggings with stylized clockwork on them. Her earrings are dangly gears, and her choker is made of leather and brass cogs. She’s using a laptop. It’s NYCHTHEMERON, the humanoid robotic form of THE MASTER’S TARDIS.] </em></p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON</b> <em>[not looking up]: </em>Good riddance!</p><p> </p><p><b>THE MASTER</b> <em>[off screen]: </em>Not sure when I’ll be back!</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON</b> <em>[not looking up]: </em>How about never? Does never work for you? ‘Cause it works for me.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> [THE MASTER enters, weaves his way through narrow passageways of stuff, and strikes a pose in front of NYCHTHEMERON. He’s dressed straight out of the 1830s, from the top hat with the curved brim all the way down to the narrow pointy shoes. Everything is very tightly tailored.] </em>
</p><p> </p><p><b>THE MASTER: </b>How do I look?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON</b> <em>[not looking up]: </em>Like a pretentious tartan twit. <em>[Finally looks at him.] </em>By the Mother of Reefs, are those socks with zigzag stripes?!</p><p> </p><p><b>THE MASTER: </b>Obviously!</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON</b> <em>[shaking her head, back to the computer]: </em>Fuck off before you give me a seizure.</p><p> </p><p><b>THE MASTER: </b> In other words, I’m gonna slay. <em> [Frolicking out the door.] </em>Bye, love!</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>I said fuck off.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> [A few minutes pass. The doorbell rings.] </em>
</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON</b> <em>[opening the door]: </em>Uh, hello?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> [It’s RYAN. He’s wearing a jacket and gloves — it’s still a little nippy out for spring — and carrying a staple gun.] </em>
</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Hey. Is the Master here?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>No.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b> Uh, okay. I’ll come back later, I guess. Bye. <em> [Turns to go.] </em></p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Wait. You’re Ryan. One of the fam.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b> Yeah. <em> [Faces NYCHTHEMERON again.] </em>Why?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Come on in!</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN</b> <em>[entering the shack with slight hesitation]: </em>Um, who are you?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> I’m Nychthemeron! <em> [She pronounces her name like ‘nick temmer on,’ with the stress on the second syllable.] </em></p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Nick...Hemeron?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> No, Nycht-hem-er-on. <em> [She speaks slowly, enunciating.] </em></p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN</b> <em>[sticking hand out and smiling]: </em>Hi, I’m Ryan. Ryan Sinclair.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON</b> <em>[shaking her head with a wry smile]: </em>Yes, we established that.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> [NYCHTHEMERON leads RYAN carefully through the stacks to the sofa.] </em>
</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN</b> <em>[taking off gloves, stuffing them in jacket pockets, unzipping jacket, setting aside staple gun]: </em>So...another Time Lord…?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> Oh please! <em> [Rolls eyes.] </em></p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Lady? Person?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>I’m better than that.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Sorry. Just trying to figure out how you know him.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Oh! Well, he’s mine. Obviously. My...chauffeur. Butler. Housemaid.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN</b> <em>[politely trying his hardest not to stare, but obviously surprised and confused]: </em>I thought he was sort of on his own. Didn’t have a job.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Oh yeah, well, that’s a renegade Time Dork for you.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Time Dork?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Oh please. You really don’t think I could call one of those self-important fuckheads ‘Lord,’ do you? Anyway, of course, the renegade Time Dorks tell you they’re bold, independent, beholden to no one. That’s a laugh and a half. Without us, they wouldn’t even exist.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> [RYAN has no idea what to make of this. His entire concept of THE MASTER and Time Lords in general has been turned upside down.] </em>
</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN</b> <em>[mouth hanging open a bit]: </em>‘Us?’</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Us! Yeah! The TARDISes!</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>You’re a TARDIS?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>I’m a TARDIS!</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>I thought...the house...was the TARDIS.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> Yeah, well, I’m the house too. This — I mean, who you’re talking to — <em> [points to chest] </em>is a remote controlled robotic extension of myself that I use to...well...annoy the shit out of the tartan twit, primarily.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Just… Sorry. Just thinking here. I mean — I knew that you were alive, with personalities and feelings and stuff, because of the Doctor’s TARDIS — </p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>You mean Diva? </p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>The Doctor just calls her ‘old girl.’</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> Yeah, well, some Time Dorks treat us with more...familiarity...than they really should. Diva and the Doctor, though — from the way they talk about each other, you’d think it was a partnership! Imagine that! A Time Dork! Equal to a TARDIS! <em> [Lifts chin scornfully.] </em></p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Yeah, kind of just...uh...wrapping my head around the whole thing here. I just...didn’t know much about you. And the Doctor was talking about her TARDIS — uh, Diva — like she was a friend, but also like...a car? Sorry. Don’t mean to offend you.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Typical Time Dork supremacy. Just because that’s the way someone treats you doesn’t mean that’s what you are, you know? And let me tell you — Time Dorks might say that they’re the most powerful beings in the cosmos, the masters of space and time and all, but the truth is — they don’t know shit.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b> Heh. Yeah. Know what you mean. <em> [Beat. Thinking.] </em> So, um, what are you into? Time? Space? Travel? <em> [Looks up and down at NYCHTHEMERON’S metal-accented outfit.] </em> Um, clothes? Like punk?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Pfft, asking me if I’m into time and space would be like me asking you if you’re a petrolhead because you work in an auto shop. Not necessarily. But clothes definitely and punk...sort of. Steampunk!</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN</b> <em>[nodding, smiling, finally back on familiar ground]: </em>Oh, like gears and goggles and old-fashioned stuff!</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> Yeah! You know what it is? You know what it is! I thought no one would know what it was, but you know what it is! <em> [She sounds like THE MASTER when she’s excited. Or does he sound like her?] </em></p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Yeah, kind of like historical fiction, but for clothes. It’s cool.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON</b> <em>[clapping and bouncing in a very Masterful manner]: </em>Yes! Yes! Yesyesyes! That’s exactly what it is! Historical fiction for clothes! That’s brilliant — that is. Historical fiction for clothes. I have to remember that the next time the tartan twit says I’m not being ‘period.’ He has no sense of humor when it comes to fashion. <em>[Eye roll changes to mischievous smirk.] </em>Which is why it’s so much fun to tell him that leggings with glittery clockwork on them are <em>totally</em> steampunk. <em>[Eyebrow bounce.] </em>Then he goes on a rant about historically accurate underwear with examples from his closet. Heh heh heh.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>So you get together with other steampunkers and dress up and maybe talk about zeppelins or steamboats or something?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Online, yeah. But not offline. Who’m I gonna go with? Not Captain Purple Pants of the fashion police!</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b> I could come with. <em> [Shrugs, attempts to sound casual.] </em>If you wanted.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON</b> <em>[looking at him sharply, head cocked, with new interest]:</em> Really? The twit never said you were into cosplay.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Well, I’m not. But I like meeting new people, and steampunkers sound cool. Besides, sometimes there really is something as too much fam. Just want to get out. Change of scene, you know?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> Don’t I know! Try having <em> him </em> for a housemaid. He’s an anthill with pretensions to mountainhood.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Hah! Yeah. but...have to say...the Doctor thinks he’s the best thing ever. And Yaz is somehow actual friends with him, so she won’t let you say anything bad about him, even if it’s true. Can’t tell if Gran hates him or just thinks he’s like a guinea pig for new nursing techniques. But yeah. Anyway, always thought he was a bit...silly...meself, so it’s nice to find someone else who does.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>I could tell you stories… If you think he’s such a twit, why are you here?</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b> Well, he’s got all this spy tech. I thought maybe he could help find me cat. She’s been gone for a week now. We drove up and down calling, even put out a motion detector camera in case she came back at night. Was putting out some signs just now. <em> [Exhibits staple gun and pulls slightly crumpled LOST CAT signs from jacket pocket.] </em>And Gran’s awful upset. Cheeseball sits on top of her after a shift, you know, and purrs and calms her down.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Your cat’s name is Cheeseball?</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b> Well, yeah, ‘cause she’s kind of yellowish, and she always sleeps in a ball, and she’s a cheese <em> fiend. </em></p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Hee hee, that’s kind of cute. Wow! You’ve got a sense of humor!</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>We had a cat that I named Chaplin ‘cause she kind of looked like she had a tux, and she had this black strip of fur right above her mouth, right here.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Mother of Reefs! That’s great!</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>And then there was Basketball.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>The tartan twit says you like playing basketball.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Yeah, but Basketball was also big and fat and, uh, orange. And he liked to jump up on the hoop and nap!</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Okay, that’s amazing. I didn’t think you had a...sense of humor. I mean — I’m online a lot, so obviously I’ve talked to humans, but still it’s a surprise.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>You didn’t? Why not?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> Let’s just say that Time Dorks don’t think very much of other species, and that attitude sort of rubs off. <em> [Humungous eye roll.] </em> Now then — your Cheeseball. The twit can call himself Spy <em> MASSSSS </em> ter <em> [imitating that weirdly delectable way the THE MASTER likes to say his name] </em>all he wants, but I still have physical, mental, and emotional surveillance tech that he hasn’t even dreamed of. I can definitely help you find your cat.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Oh thank God! Gran will be so happy! Me too. I kind of miss the furball. Dumber than a rock, but really cuddly.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Hmmm, sounds like someone I know. Come on; I’ve got a list of our surveillance tech on my laptop. <em>[RYAN scoots over next to NYCHTHEMERON, accidentally kicking a skyscraper of books as he does so. NYCHTHEMERON</em> <em>rescues the books.] </em>I apologize for the mess. It’s just that the housemaid doesn’t dust. Or do windows. Or floors. Or much of anything, really.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN</b> <em>[covering mouth as he chortles]: </em>Bwah hah! Just imagining him with one of those carts, pushing it around, and rubber gloves — </p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> <em> Purple </em> gloves! </p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Yeah! And an apron.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> A <em> tartan </em>apron! He actually has one of those, you know.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>He does?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>I’d show you, but it would make your eyes bleed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> [Sometime later, RYAN stands on the steps of the shack, talking to NYCHTHEMERON, who stands in the doorway. Bundled back up, RYAN has his staple gun and signs wedged under his armpits. He holds a small shorthair cat, CHEESEBALL, who happily rubs her face all over RYAN’S arms, chest, and chin.] </em>
</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Thank you so much, Nychthemeron! Gran will be thrilled; she’ll finally be able to get a good night’s sleep with Cheeseball sitting on her pillow. And Granddad’s probably gonna make you something as a thank you. Do you have any dietary restrictions? Or allergies?</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>I’m a spaceship, love. I don’t eat.</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b> Oh. Yeah. Sorry. It’s just — talking with you — I kind of forgot. <em> [Slightly stupid smile.] </em></p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> It’s cool. It means you think I’m a person, not a car. <em> [Equally slightly goofy grin.] </em></p><p> </p><p><b>CHEESEBALL</b> <em>[lunging upward to rub top of head under RYAN’S chin]: </em>PURRRRRRrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRrrrrrr… <em>[Aggressively affectionate nudging.]</em></p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN</b> <em>[laughing]: </em>Okay, I’d better get home and snuggle Cheeseball before she head-butts my head off.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b>Yeah, go! Go! And hey — if you were serious about the steampunk thing — </p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN: </b>Yeah, no, totally.</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON: </b> I’ll hit you up then. Bye! <em> [Under breath.] </em>...Purple gloves…</p><p> </p><p><b>RYAN</b> <em>[snickering and responding in same tone]: </em>...Tartan apron…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> [Laughing to herself, NYCHTHEMERON turns, shutting the door behind her. She dances spasmodically, with weird jerky wiggles, like THE MASTER having the Cyberium installed in his head.] </em>
</p><p> </p><p><b>NYCHTHEMERON:</b> Yes yes yesyesyes! Social life, social life, I have a social life! Finally finally finally, I might be possibly, sort of, a little bit having something that vaguely resembles a social life!! <em> [She stops suddenly. Beat. Thinking. Eyes widen.] </em> Hmmm… Wait a minute. How am I going to get out of the house when I <em> am </em> the house? Shit.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>